


Mood Swings

by suna_scribbles



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mechpreg, Mpreg, but nothing explicit don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23707141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suna_scribbles/pseuds/suna_scribbles
Summary: For once, Bumblebee is the moody one in the relationship. Though his reasons are slightly different than Blitzwing's.
Relationships: Blitzwing/Bumblebee
Comments: 11
Kudos: 260





	Mood Swings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EveOfHalloween](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveOfHalloween/gifts).



> for eve-of-halloween on tumblr! check out her sparklings, they're adorable as hell

“I think something’s wrong with you,” Blitzwing said, trying and failing to make pointed optic contact with Bumblebee as the minibot threw back yet another barrel of oil.

“Why?” Bumblebee asked, wiping at some oil as it dripped down his chin. “It’s been a busy day. I’m hungry. What’s so weird about that?”

“All you’ve done is play video games and complain,” Blitzwing said flatly. “I don’t think that warrants this sort of oil consumption.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I forgot to eat or something,” Bumblebee said with a shrug. “I do that sometimes, you know that! If I’m in the middle of a boss fight and it’s dinnertime, dinner ain’t happening. That’s just the way I roll, babe.”

“Still,” Blitzwing grumbled, watching in awe as Bumblebee cracked open his third barrel of oil. “This is excessive. Even for you.”

“ _Whatever!_ ” Bumblebee barked, catching Blitzwing by surprise with a sudden shout. “Can’t I just drink some oil without getting the third degree? _Primus._ It tastes good, and I’m hungry. Can’t you just frag off?”

Crimson blurred Blitzwing’s vision for a moment, but he fought off his irritation, gritting his dentae hard. “Apologies,” he grumbled. “Nevermind, then.”

Bumblebee looked up at Blitzwing, his optics suddenly shining, digits shaking so hard that oil spilled down his wrists. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, tears welling in his bright blue optics. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just hungry, okay? I keep fueling and I still feel hungry. It’s driving me crazy. Please don’t be mad at me, babe, _please,_ I’m so sorry.”

Blitzwing cocked his helm, leaning down to quickly wipe the tears from Bumblebee’s cheeks. “It’s alright, little one,” he said softly, trying to hide his confusion. “You are correct. It’s been a long day for you. Drink your oil and we can go relax, alright? Whatever makes you happy.”

The tears on Bumblebee’s cheeks abruptly stopped falling, and a smirk lifted on his lips. “ _Anything?_ ” he purred.

Blitzwing smiled back thinly as the minibot crawled closer to him. “Anything,” he assured.

Bumblebee took a deep, shuddery breath, pressing his lips against Blitzwing’s neck, his frame warm and heavy. “I can think of something that would cheer me up,” he hummed.

Blitzwing’s confusion vanished the moment he felt Bumblebee’s weight against him, and he leaned into Bumblebee’s kisses, his own frame humming warmly. “Why don’t you tell me about it?” he murmured.

“You know,” Bumblebee replied, his dentae grazing against Blitzwing’s plating. “Or am I not putting out the right signals?”

“Oh, I know,” Blitzwing said, tracing his hands up and down Bumblebee’s frame. “But I want to hear you _say_ it.”

To Blitzwing’s surprise, Bumblebee sharply pulled back, a scowl etched deep into his features. “ _Why?_ ” he snapped. “Why can’t we just have a nice moment, huh? Why do you always have to turn it into some kind of—some—some sort of _scene?_ I just want a nice, spicy evening with you, but _no,_ you’re always doing this sort of stuff!”

Blitzwing couldn’t help himself—irritation took over his frame, and he found himself frowning, dentae bared. “What’s the _matter_ with you?” he spat. “First you’re all over me, then you’re _snapping_ at me for _doing what we always do?_ Who stuffed their servo up your exhaust port, huh?”

Bumblebee’s jaw dropped slightly, and he pushed backwards, optics shimmering brightly with tears. “Why are you _yelling_ at me?” he whispered.

“ _You yelled at me!_ ”

“I’m sorry,” Bumblebee said, his lower lip quivering. “I’m so sorry, babe, I don’t know why I yelled at you. Please don’t be mad at me.”

Confusion overtook Blitzwing once again as his anger bled away, and he raised a brow. “I’m… alright,” he said slowly.

“Just hold me,” Bumblebee said, climbing into Blitzwing’s lap and clinging to his arm tightly. “Give me snuggles, please, I want snuggles. Please?”

Blitzwing paused before placing a hand on Bumblebee’s helm, rubbing affectionately at his horns. “Alright,” he said, staring at the wall in complete and utter bewilderment.

* * *

Why did he feel so _tired?_

Despite the fact that the other Autobots had gone on multiple missions over the past week, Bumblebee had barely had the strength to walk from the couch to his room. He felt more jittery and restless than ever, but his frame refused to cooperate with his processor, his every movement sluggish and inert. Even now, as Optimus and Prowl roared past him and into the outside world, he found himself staring uselessly at the television screen, trying to ignore the uncomfortable disconnect plaguing his frame.

He _would_ have been, at least, if Ratchet hadn’t walked up behind him, wearing a familiar scowl. Bumblebee sighed, closing his optics.

“Before you even ask— _no,_ I don’t have any leaks,” Bumblebee said exasperatedly, trying and failing to dodge the medic’s piercing gaze. “I’m just sort of tired lately, and I don’t wanna get up. Is that a crime?”

“No, but if you and your oversized boy toy keep draining my oil supply, I might convict you of one,” Ratchet said. 

Bumblebee groaned aloud. “We’ve been _over_ this, you old rust bucket,” he said, rolling his optics. “Blitzwing needs a lot of fuel! He’s _big!_ Are you really gonna gripe on him for needing more fuel than the rest of us?”

“No,” Ratchet said, raising a brow, sending Bumblebee’s temper over the edge.

“Then what’s the _problem?_ ” Bumblebee barked, clenching his servos into fists. “And would you stop staring at me?”

Ratchet didn’t stop, his brow rising further as he continued to look at the minibot. Bumblebee felt a massive wave of insecurity wash over him, and he cringed at his own outburst.

“I’m sorry,” he said, covering his optics in shame, breaking away from Ratchet’s contemplative gaze. “I don’t think I’ve been sleeping well. I snapped at Blitzwing the other day too—he was giving me all kinds of slag for drinking a bunch of oil, but I’ve just been really needing fuel lately, you know? It’s not really _that_ big of a deal. Appetites change, right? It’s not like I’m dying or anything, so I don’t even know why he cared so much.”

Bumblebee grumbled a few more quiet grievances before parting his digits, peering at Ratchet, who hadn’t moved his optics at all. 

“What?” Bumblebee muttered.

“Would you mind coming with me for just a minute?” Ratchet asked, suddenly adopting his soothing medic-voice.

Bumblebee immediately frowned, lowering his servos into his lap. “Why?” he asked suspiciously. “You think I’m sick or something?”

“Not at all,” Ratchet said, his servo wrapping firmly around Bumblebee’s shoulder before the minibot could protest. “I just want to do a quick scan for something. Nothing to be concerned about.”

“That’s what they tell mechs before they die,” Bumblebee said nervously, standing up against his will. “What’s the deal, old mech? I’m not dying, am I?”

“Quite the opposite,” Ratchet muttered, barely audible.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just come with me.”

Bumblebee’s tanks churned uncomfortably, but he didn’t object, allowing himself to be steered in the direction of the medbay. It was never a good sign when Ratchet had good bedside manner, but Bumblebee knew better than to try running away from the medic when he was on a mission. So he meekly walked into the medbay, trying to ignore how delicately Ratchet was handling him, optics strangely locked on Bumblebee’s aching chest.

* * *

Blitzwing was surprised when Bumblebee entered their quarters—not because he’d walked in, of course, but because he’d done so _quietly._ Bumblebee usually hurled himself onto the berth at full speed, his mouth running miraculously faster than his legs, rambling about whatever adventure he’d just been on or what game he’d just beaten.

But now, Bumblebee was standing in the doorway, servos clasped tightly over his chest, optics on the floor as he nudged the door shut with the tip of his pede. Blitzwing sat up, dropping his datapad and narrowing his optics, already debating the possible ways to kill whoever had hurt his precious Bumblebee’s feelings.

“What’s wrong?” he said darkly.

Bumblebee didn’t answer, simply swallowing and picking at the edges of his chest plating. “I need to tell you something,” he said, biting his lip anxiously.

“Did someone upset you?” Blitzwing asked.

Bumblebee shook his helm, easing Blitzwing’s nerves ever so slightly. “No,” he said. “I just… uh… something happened, and I need to talk to you about it. Just you and me, privately, okay?”

“Of course,” Blitzwing said, shuffling over on the berth and patting the now-empty space. “Sit. Tell. You know you can tell me anything.”

Bumblebee quite obviously hesitated, but he eventually nodded, crossing the room and hoisting himself onto the berth. His digits were wrapped tightly around his chest, almost protectively, stroking the bright yellow plating gently.

“So,” Bumblebee started, his brow furrowing, clearly struggling for words—not a common thing for him. “I—um—well, you know how we… sometimes, we do the—you and me, we sometimes—”

“Yes, Bumblebee,” Blitzwing said, unable to stop himself from rolling his optics. “I am aware of what we do together.” 

“Right,” Bumblebee said, chuckling, his digits pressing harder into his plating. “Well, so, about that. So, apparently, sometimes, when we do that, it’s possible for… well, um, I didn’t really know it happened anymore, or at least not _super often,_ but, well, we, um, there’s this thing where—”

“Bumblebee,” Blitzwing said quietly, trying his very best not to lose his temper. “I love you very much, but if you don’t spit it out already, I may have to pick you up and shake it out of you.”

“ _I’m carrying._ ”

Blitzwing froze, staring at Bumblebee as he felt his own optics widen. “You—what?” he said.

“Ratchet just did the scan,” Bumblebee said, picking more insistently at his chest plating. “He got suspicious when I yelled at him earlier, and I told him I yelled at you, and apparently, um, mood swings can get pretty bad when your code is focusing on programming another processor, and… well… yeah.”

Blitzwing stared at Bumblebee in shock and awe, unable to keep himself from glancing at the minibot’s chest. It looked exactly the same despite the life apparently growing inside of it, and despite his efforts, Blitzwing couldn’t look away.

“How long?” he managed.

“Just over a week,” Bumblebee mumbled, biting his lip. “It just moved from my spark chamber to my, uh… other chamber thing. You know. And Ratchet said it’s big— _really_ big. So I guess that means its definitely yours.” He chuckled dryly, shrugging. “Not that it’d be anyone else’s. I’m joking. I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”

Blitzwing, still aghast, fought to compose a coherent sentence, reaching out to hold Bumblebee’s servos in his own. “Why are you nervous?” he asked gently.

“Are you serious?” Bumblebee said, finally lifting his optics and staring Blitzwing in the face. “There’s a thing in there! In _me!_ A little wormy looking thing—or a _big_ wormy looking thing, I guess! Inside of my _chest!_ It’s _growing_ in me! That doesn’t freak you out at all? Because it definitely freaks me out! Earlier today, I thought I was just moody, but apparently I’m _carrying?_ Me? Of all mechs? I just—it’s kind of a lot for one day, you know? I’m a little bit terrified here! Are you _not_?”

Blitzwing stared at Bumblebee for a few moments more before shaking his helm, firmly squeezing Bumblebee’s servos. “Of course,” he said softly. “This is a big moment.”

“ _No slag!_ ” Bumblebee said shrilly.

“You didn’t let me finish,” Blitzwing said, pulling Bumblebee closer to himself and wrapping him in a gentle hug. “This is, undoubtedly, very stressful for you. But I can reassure you, everything is going to be alright.”

Bumblebee cocked his helm into Blitzwing’s cockpit, looking up at the triple changer. “You’re not mad?” he asked tentatively.

“Why would I be?”

“Because—sparkling! Little tiny thing that we’re gonna have to, like, take care of! I killed one of Prowl’s plants in less than three days—how the hell am I gonna carry this thing _and_ make sure it doesn’t jump out a window? I don’t know anything _about_ sparklings! I didn’t even have a companion when I played Skyrim because I didn’t think I could handle the responsibility! This is—this is a _sparkling!_ A real, tiny, defenseless thing! How am I—”

Fully aware of how much Bumblebee hated it, Blitzwing lifted a servo and clapped it over Bumblebee’s mouth, pinning it shut. Bumblebee protested, his optics narrowing angrily as he dug his digits into Blitzwing’s, but Blitzwing didn’t relent.

“I understand that you are frightened,” Blitzwing said, swallowing hard. “But a sparkling is different from a plant or a computer character. You— _we_ —will be connected to it. You will know how to care for it. And if you get overwhelmed, I will be here to help you every step of the way. This sparkling is _ours._ I will do anything necessary to ensure its safety.”

Bumblebee’s optics softened, and Blitzwing slowly pulled his servo from his lips, freeing the minibot to speak once again.

“You’re, like, terrifyingly calm right now,” Bumblebee muttered, taking Blitzwing’s servos in his own. “Why are you so calm? You don’t think I’m lying, do you?”

“Of course not,” Blitzwing said shortly. “Not at all. I am calm because, well… you aren’t.”

“So you’re just _pretending_ to be calm,” Bumblebee pressed, suddenly looking quite frantic. 

“No,” Blitzwing said again. “I just… I find it hard to be terribly frightened when another piece of you is going to be in this world.”

Bumblebee looked up at Blitzwing with shimmering optics, his jaw clenched. “Really?” he croaked.

“Of course,” Blitzwing said, gathering Bumblebee tightly into his arms and placing a servo over his chest. “You have every right to be scared. But I… I am simply amazed that, right here, there is a small piece of us, ready to thrive.”

Blitzwing gently patted Bumblebee’s chest, smiling thinly as the minibot relaxed into his touch.

“Yeah,” Bumblebee said wistfully, closing his optics and leaning into Blitzwing’s cockpit. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s us. A little you.”

“A little _you,_ ” Blitzwing corrected.

Bumblebee grinned. “A little _us,_ ” he said softly. “Promise you won’t let me kill her?”

Blitzwing scoffed. “You won’t need my help with that,” he said. “But yes, I promise. I will protect—”

He paused, looking down at Bumblebee. “ _Her?_ ” he repeated.

Bumblebee nodded. “It’s a femme,” he whispered. “A huge, badass femme. Ratchet’s got me all freaked out because he thinks she might be too big for me to carry.”

“We can worry about that when the time arises,” Blitzwing said, leaning down to gently kiss the top of Bumblebee’s helm. “For now… does she have a spark?”

Bumblebee nodded again, a large smile spreading over his face, sending a wave of relief through Blitzwing’s frame. “Just a tiny one, but yeah,” he said. “Ratchet let me watch it for a bit. Wanna listen? It’s super weird and tiny. I love it.”

Blitzwing joined his sparkmate in smiling. “I would love nothing more.”


End file.
